Sweet Apathy
by Kiwisilence
Summary: Neloth lived in Tel Mithryn; Harry was content to merely live in his presence. Harry becomes obsessed with uncovering a past attempt on Neloth's and the Telvanni councilors' lives that takes him to Skyrim. Harry/Neloth slash.
1. Introduction

Pairing: Harry Potter x Neloth

AN: This pairing came to me on a whim, and it should be obvious Harry isn't going to be in-character. Neloth might become psychotic if I continue this too... Anyways, I own neither fandom's source material and am sadly making no profits. Nothing will be graphic slash in this story beyond kissing; the focus is more on Harry's psychology.

* * *

Harry smiled, his eyesight lazily strolling across the wizard whose chambers he currently occupied. Perhaps occupied was too passive a word, but the young wizard still had some sense of shame. Or, he still knew how to fake shame and play that innocent card. Neloth had corrupted him.

Voldemort, despite all the frequent attempts upon Harry's life, could never have rendered the boy into this current state of submission. Harry was sprawled on Neloth's bed, crossing his legs at the ankles with his arms crossed behind his head, as he watched the Dunmer pace around the room. The elder wizard was in some trance-like state, lost in through of experiments and spellwork. Harry almost didn't want to know what Neloth was thinking of, it could be depraved spells that could create monstrous, stitched creatures to torment his enemies...or something silly. Harry was continuously asked of his former life, even offering his memories to be viewed, so it wasn't a stretch to think that Neloth was thinking of...teddy bears. The Dunmer would dream of doing something cute with them: maybe enlarging them into giant attack weapons, probably with bloody steel fangs. Those teddy bears would be practically Santa-worthy.

Rita Skeeter would do anything to get a photograph of him now. She wouldn't even pretend to hide behind her journalistic integrity; instead, she would pounce animal-like, ripping at the throats of anyone who tried getting the story before her.

Despite her dedication to...journalism, there wasn't much of a concrete story to tell. Harry didn't even need to care about Rita. She was probably dead, squashed by the Death Eaters for being the pesky beetle she was. On the other hand, she could still live, painting sordid canvases of lies commissioned by a Death Eater-controlled government.

Either way, his friends were most likely dead.

Yet Harry could no longer bring himself to care. He wasn't apart of that world anymore. Even if the precise magic that brought him here was both unknowable to himself and the great Neloth, he was still apathetic to the concerns of his past.

"Quit pacing," Harry innocently eyed Neloth, playing every bit of his former Golden Boy charm for the Dunmer. "I've made your tea."

"Really?" Neloth drew out his vowels, masking his emotions as he stared at the younger wizard. "I doubt someone with the cooking ability of a blinded guar could manage that."

Harry had once hated Neloth, cursing every inch of the Dumner's arrogance that too easily called to mind Snape. Whereas Snape was hostile to the point of being tyrannical, Neloth's hubris hid his humor. The Dunmer could be playful.

"I had to use non-traditional means to serve it."

"I wouldn't be surprised to hear you signed pacts with all the Daedra Lords just to summon a mere cup of tea."

"Of course, nothing quite makes a young, impressionable wizard say yes to damnation like the tentacles of Hermaeus Mora. Give me the secret to make canis root tea…and not something practical like eternal life, enslavement of all mortals…"

"Where is this tea?" Neloth no longer spoke with bite, but with a genuine curiosity. Harry took pleasure in these moments, the constant build-up and trading of wit just to see a mere crack in the older wizard's perpetual arrogance.

Harry grinned, breaking the innocent look he was affecting. Sometimes, no words needed to be spoken. The young wizard was still hormonal, obsessed with any physical contact, and unashamed of demanding Neloth to give in. Under Neloth's tutelage, Harry's innocence had broken. He hadn't just learned magic, but how to emulate the Dunmer. Neloth's presence had matured him, but at the same time, given him adult desires.

Neloth swiftly sat on top of Harry, possessively clasping the teen's chin with his right hand as he demanded a kiss. No spell needed to be casted, no battle was fought, Harry just opened willingly.

Harry had learnt many new spells that Dumbledore would have forbidden, but despite a desire to impress Neloth, he choose simplicity. The Golden Boy's mouth permanently tasted like canis root tea.

Neloth was domineering, but with a slight gentleness for Harry. The Dumber could be overbearing, but he treated the younger wizard nothing like how he acted towards the other humans that inhabited Solstheim.

Any wizard as old as the Dumner had a right to look down upon the mortals around him. The Nords of the island were mere children, brutally bashing each other's brains in the tired names of honor and heroics. Their struggles were petty, their lives were pettier, and they could do nothing but breed in an endless, predictable cycle. Neloth only needed to concern himself with whatever fleeting name could be useful to him.

Harry was not just another mortal to Neloth. The young wizard, once touted as the savior of the Wizarding world, was a personal experiment for the Dunmer. Through some unstable and unknowable magic to Harry, the older wizard had called him into this world.

Despite his interest in Neloth, Harry had not concerned himself with leaving Tel Mithryn. The Nords of the island were in many ways like the wizards of his former world. He just couldn't care for the lives of beasts.

Neloth had saved him from the forced role of a hero. There were no monsters to kill, no life-threatening lessons designed by Dumbledore. Harry didn't even have to concern himself with cooking his own food. That was Ulves' purpose.

Harry was surprised that he even remembered Ulves' name. There would be many cooks in Tel Mithryn. In time, they would all blend together in a sea of meaningless names. They would all be Ulves. Even the memories of his friends would blur into nameless faces. Hermione, nosey and with hair that rivaled Hagrid's during her first year, would eventually be forgotten. The memory of her would dissolve, easing away like the waves that surrounded Solstheim.

Neloth offered him immortality. Even thought Harry knew not what magic the older wizard had used, his life was now defined by one constant: Neloth.

Harry ceased his thoughts, throwing himself more into his kiss with the elder wizard. He had no reason to ponder his current situation, question its ridiculousness, or chase any dizzy daydream of independence.

Even though alternating between slow, almost stroll-like trails of a kiss and wild bouts of heat, Harry's thoughts returned once again to his past. He could forget the names of Ron and Hermione, and even the face of his beloved godfather. His mind turned not to thoughts of how nice and strong their friendships had once been, but to the instance that brought him here.

Although Harry was apathetic, cruel, and obsessed with a certain Dunmer, he was suspicious when he thought of the Department of Mysteries and falling into the Veil.

His situation, from suddenly abandoning a life of being molded into killing a terrorist wizard to now living as a houseboy for a crazed Dunmer would have disturbed his former self. Harry felt a slight headache, slowly creeping into a sharper pain that didn't go settle down despite having Neloth's tender kisses.

Falling into the Veil was too convenient, to the point of being contrived. It seemed less like a strange, obscure spell done by Neloth and more the work of a crazed writer, suddenly taking control over Harry's life.

Neloth shouldn't be trusted, but Harry's body, his very nerves, surged and boiled in the man's presence. Harry felt like but a doll, crudely constructed with an overbearing level of emotion solely for Neloth's enjoyment.

He didn't know if that was horrifying, or perhaps, the greatest thing that had ever happened in his life. Harry no longer had goals, nor did he reach for any sort of Heaven. Neloth lived in Tel Mithryn; Harry was content to merely live in his presence.

* * *

AN: Anyways, I'm debating about whether to make this a two or three-shot. Should a chapter solely focus/re-hash the typical falling through the Veil story? If I do, I hope to deconstruct that story. Hint hint, Harry might not have the best memory of the situation...


	2. Withdrawal

Chapter 2: Withdrawal

* * *

Harry had to will himself away from Neloth's presence, allowing the Dunmer get some work done. The young wizard had almost forgotten any social norms, especially since he so frequently violated Neloth's personal space. If the Telvanni wizard exhaled, Harry was there to absorb the air, as if it were a rich ambrosia of carbon. Excessive carbon, like Neloth, was dangerously delicious...

"I'm going to be productive today," Harry pushed himself off the bed, glancing over at Neloth. The elder wizard had not yet started his day, delving into the obscure magics of who-knows-what.

Harry would one day delve into Neloth's greater levels of magic, but he was competent. He had taken quickly to this world's magic, lone forgetting his past with a wand. Even staffs...this world's equivalent felt cumbersome and bothered Harry to have to carry around.

"Really? What stopped you yesterday? Or the days, months, and years before that?" Neloth's arm tried reaching for Harry.

"I was just saving up my energy."

"You're saving up your energy to...let me guess, perform a basic healing spell?"

"I'm going to practice Necromancy," Harry raised his eyebrows, taking delight in his newfound power in this world. He was not longer the simple boy from Hogwarts turning teacups into rats.

"It's good to know Solstheim's youth has taken to safe, mother-approved games...like summoning the undead."

"I can stop a Draugr," Harry rolled his eyes, playfully slapping Neloth's chest. "I think a certain Telvanni is just mad...his own summoning spells really worked well for Talvas."

"Talvas is incompetent."

"Everything he knows, he learned from you."

"I conversed with the Daedra Lords from the womb."

"Because that's even possible?" Harry pushed himself back to Neloth's side, inching his face closer to the wizard. Suddenly, the Potter child regained his senses, inwardly cursing himself for falling back into Neloth's embrace. "I'm going to leave and do something today!"

"You've wasted at least an hour saying that and teasing me into a kiss. Just finish the later and consider it a job well done, earning the affection of..."

"A great Telvanni wizard such as yourself or better yet, a god amongst the Nords here."

"I'm glad you finally agree," Neloth never laughed, but his grin shown bright enough to border on one.

"I will do something today," Harry pushed himself away from the Dunmer, turning back one more time, before leaving their bedroom.

* * *

Already, Harry was bored. The creature-testing lab, which currently housed two caged Spriggans, wasn't far enough from Neloth. Harry could almost sense the elder wizard laughing at him, as if it were a ringing built into the very walls of Tel Mithryn.

But everything was silent. The Draugr Harry had summoned stared emotionlessly at him, but Harry was perplexed. He didn't expect the undead creature to do anything, but he still felt disappointed.

Without thinking, Harry's hands made the movements for a telekinesis spell. His body felt an urge to change the Draugr, but Harry didn't question the logicality of the spell even working. Perhaps it wasn't even a telekinesis spell, but it worked regardless. Slowly, Harry moved his hand, causing the features of the undead before him to twist and rearrange themselves.

Telekinesis allowed a wizard to move objects. As Harry's mind regained itself from its stupor, he wondered if using that spell labeled the Draugr as an object. Hermione might even berate him for 'objectifying' this monster.

Maybe she wouldn't call him out for that; instead, she might be too horrified over what Harry had molded the Draugr into. At first glance, it still looked just as undead as ever, but only to Harry or someone from his previous world, could the features of Ron Weasley be recognized. Even the Draugr's cheekbones had broken and rearranged themselves to mimic the shape of Ron.

Harry focused on the creature. It wasn't Ron; instead, it was the dead mockery of Ron. No parody had ever been this cruel to its source material. Harry felt like he should have been disturbed at what allowing his mind to wander had done, but as usual, he didn't care.

"One firebolt and you're deader than my parents," Harry almost laughed.

Still, the Draugr remained emotionless. Only Harry's deluded mind was on edge, as if bracing for the impossible event of Ron confronting him through this creature.

"I wonder what you would think of me, seeing me now."

Harry looked away from the creature, focusing on the Spriggans. Some urge within Harry hadn't been content; the need to summon a Draugr and twist it to look like Ron was testament to that.

"You were foolish to go with me to the Department of Mysteries, but you have the excuse of being an idiot. It was your greatest character trait. Hermione, despite how smart she wanted to be seen as, came. Only her do I really not pity. Luna was crazy and Neville didn't have a backbone to say no. And your sister...I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I hadn't been pulled to Neloth. Would I have loved her...or taken to the first blue-skinned circus freak I could find? I'm up for some Dunmer roleplay..."

Harry wished the Draugr could give some response, because Harry's cherished apathy was slipping.

"I almost miss you, Ron. Just almost..."

Harry couldn't confront his thoughts; this lapse had to be corrected. Neloth awaited him. With that, Harry cast a tendril of fire at the creature, watching it convulse as if in a dance, before molting into ash.

Ron could never mean anything to him; Harry's emotional control slipped at the briefest thought of him.

"I am cruel...and that makes me strong."

Harry spoke it mantra-like, feeling his nerves slip away. Once again, he had to will himself into emotional neutrality.

* * *

His summoning hadn't taken that long. What felt like hours had in actuality been less than 20 minutes. Therefore, even though his body urged him to return to Neloth, he couldn't. Harry needed to at least accomplish some magical training on his own.

Instead of attempting necromancy again, Harry wandered to Elynea Mothren's apothecary. He could either help or bother her; the second option might not be productive, but Harry enjoyed toying with the few people allowed to live in Tel Mithryn. They were all meaningless to him of course, but they were a vast improvement over the degenerates at Raven Rock or the Skaal Village.

Neloth's collection of Telvanni servants made Harry feel normal. His care for them truly only related to their connection to Neloth, but they could still amuse the boy.

"Elynea..." Harry affected a kind entrance into the apothecary like an actor with scripted lines. "How are you?"

"Good. As usual, business is non-existent."

"But I'm here. I'm your best customer. That means you should smile." Harry drawled, trying to joke with the Dunmer woman. It was taxing, but Harry liked the dedication it took for himself to act nice. It was harder than any spell, even Neloth's famous one to summon Ash Spawn.

"Like Neloth's trophy-husband has to pay," Elynea smiled at the wizard.

Harry was too obsessed with Neloth. Her comments reminded him of Hermione's humor, but Harry gritted his teeth. he would like nothing better to lunge at Elynea and give her the same fate as his summoned Draugr.

Something was seriously wrong with his emotions today, Harry paused and thought to himself. His body could not handle random bouts of anger, sadness, and confusion. Maybe all could be blamed on his physical distance from Neloth. Harry needed to cling to that belief, because he was not up for questioning his own issues. Even though Elynea bothered him, she luckily distracted him from thinking any further down that line.

"Did you hear about Ildari Sarothril?"

"Who?"

"What do you mean 'who'? Neloth's former apprentice. Rumor has it she was behind the recent ash spawn attacks a while back."

Harry hadn't paid any attention to the attacks. They had stopped just as quickly as they started. The boy thought himself above the conflict...it was either something that Neloth would gift the people by saving them or they would for once, fight the ash spawn themselves.

"There hasn't been any decent attempts on Neloth's life in centuries."

He was not surprised there had been attempts, for the wizard was pompous enough to deserve an execution. Harry wanted to smile at that thought, but controlled himself in front of the Dunmer woman.

"I didn't know anyone tried."

"There were many rumors back in the day of the Nerevarine. Apparently the Arch-Mage of Vvardenfell Trebonius Artorius was behind a plot to kill the Telvanni councilors."

With the mere mention of Neloth's past, Harry too easily focused and actually cared for what Elynea was saying. He was pathetically devoted.

"Did he succeed?"

"Not on the records...it was covered up by both the Mages Guild and our House. An Imperial Battlemage is not a defeator of great Telvanni wizards."

"How do you even know about this? It sounds like idle-gossip by a bad businesswoman."

"Our house doesn't have much open secrets, Harry. It makes for a better read than Helseth's obviously exaggerated _A Game at Dinner_."

"I guess. You're way too exited about brutes trying to kill Neloth."

"I thought it would be exiting. Ildari might be a Dunmer, but she isn't as powerful as that Arch-Mage was. At least he killed some of the councilors..."

"I don't believe that's possible."

"Regardless, have you seen Varona Nelas lately? My one customer for the year has disappeared!"

Elynea continued on a mindless rant, which Harry forced himself to suffer through. Her rumors were always more soap opera than investigative journalism, but something had struck him about Neloth's past. Harry knew Neloth's personality on an intimate level that out-rivaled any other mortal, but the young wizard didn't know enough of his past.

He could just accept the mystery, but his devotion to Neloth forced him to want to learn more. The history of the Dunmer's life must not be merely read, but consumed.

* * *

AN: Please review. I still haven't really gone into the Department of Mysteries, instead deciding to flesh out Tel Mithryn in this chapter and how unstable Harry is without Neloth.


	3. The Cold Song

Chapter 3: The Cold Song

* * *

Harry cursed himself, wishing for a Room of Requirement in this world. Searching through tattered books on Telvanni led to little on Neloth. Only in some books, would his obsession even be mentioned, but that instant flame of emotion it ignited quickly dwindled.

"Reading is haaaaaard," Harry whined out, jokingly sounding like a pre-teen.

Although he prided himself in being cool and collected, he was an impatient brat. Without instant results to either confirm or deny Elynea's story, Harry left Neloth's small library, leaving towards the kitchen. He would just bother someone else today.

When Harry arrived and looked around at platters of untouched food, he found Ulves Romoran not cooking, but leaning against a wall and flicking his fingers. The Dunmer cook might have won against Elynea in a competition of laziness. Unlike Elynea, who at least pretended to sell goods, Ulves was more content to sleep in the kitchen, guzzle its stores of Sujamma, and repeat the process.

All of these qualities deserved punishment; not just banishment from Tel Mithryn, but being subjected to experiments as Neloth's test subject. Despite his disgust, Harry was strangely found of Ulves. The Dunmer cook lived up to Harry's view of mortals as pathetic. Ulves exemplified mediocrity and didn't pretend to have importance like Elynea. Ulves knew he was pathetic and beneath Harry.

"Harry," Ulves almost coughed out his name.

"Ulves, not working as usual. Tisk tisk."

"I forgot about the guest we had...Tel Mithryn has never housed such royalty." For one fleeting moment, Ulves' Dunmer arrogance broke through in sarcasm.

"You thing too highly of me, subject." Harry played along, watching Ulves' expression ease as if they were friends.

At times, Elynea and Ulves reminded him of Hermione and Ron. Elynea was the more intelligent Dunmer whereas Ulves exemplified Ron's worst traits. Both Dunmer were crude copies of his memories of his former friends, Harry thought almost snidely to himself. He didn't care for Hermione, but Elynea was the Gryffindor girl's future if she had forsaken books to divulge in petty gossip. Ulves took Ron's laziness with school work and defined it as an entire lifestyle. Even Ron accomplished something if it involved Quidditch.

"Save the fancy words for a better person, king," Ulves paused, before dropping the charade. "What do you want?" The Dunmer yawned.

"I'm bored."

"Don't bother me then."

"I'm sorry I interrupted you drinking the last of Neloth's Sujamma."

"I trained years just to get this alcohol tolerance," Ulves choked out a laugh. The Dunmer was sick in both mind and body.

"How have you not been promoted to a councilor? There's the schools of Mysticism and Alteration, but truly the ancient, obscure art of getting sloppy drunk is esteemed among the Telvanni."

Before Ulves could crack a response, Harry noticed the Sujamma bottle from which Ulves had been drinking.

"What's the year on that, anyways?"

"Third era, 427..."

"The year of the Nerevarine," Harry whispered, his thoughts returning to his painful conversation with Elynea. This was too coincidental, as if Harry's life had been prewritten to discover this past.

"Neloth won't mind me drinking this. They drained Vvardenfell dry to make enough booze to celebrate Dagoth Ur's defeat that year."

Harry didn't respond, preferring to roll his eyes at Ulves.

"My family was apart of Redoran back then. It wasn't until the Ash Year and their displacement that they came to serve Neloth and the House. I drink to them." Ulves smiled, his eyes beaming with gluttony.

Instead of continuing to disapprove, Harry did something he knew he would regret. His research had led nowhere, so like Elynea, he would lower himself and ask of Neloth's past.

"Elynea was barking something about a conspiracy to kill Neloth and the Telvanni councilors back then. Please say you know more than her rumors."

"That's an odd question to ask," Ulves remarked, but the Sujamma had already killed any suspicion the Dunmer could have mustered. "I'll tell you, because unlike those wizards, the Redoran are honest."

Ulves had never spoken anything more interesting to Harry. Just like Elynea, he had been of actual use to Harry today. The young wizard almost felt grateful, but quickly denied that thought. Ulves was but another tool.

"My ancestor Anise Romoran was involved with several fights against the Telvanni even...let me remember, one of the councilors manipulated that Arch-Mage into killing the other councilors. Aryon? Yes, that was it. The Arch-Mage was fed fake information on what he thought were plans by the Telvanni to spy and ultimately eliminate the Guild."

"But why would he believe those lies? Telvanni aren't word-smiths. They're too addicted to their books to even know how to manipulate another person."

Most Telvanni were the Dunmer versions of Ravenclaws, too bound in ancient tomes and long-forgotten magics to even leave their grand towers.

"Aryon had ambitions to change the Telvanni and modernize it. Eliminating his fellow isolationist councilors without being directly involved would have changed the House. Neloth wouldn't have saved this House..."

That remark soured Harry's demeanor, pushing the edges of his calm facade. Like the elder wizard, his House was perfect and above a bumbling loon like Ulves. No matter how much the Dunmer amused him, the Telvanni could not be shamed.

"Did any of them live?" Harry needed to press further without letting Ulves affect him.

"Other than Neloth...Aryon." The Dunmer's words were starting to slur.

"Why didn't Neloth deal with him?" Harry asked as if he were a child enveloped in his favorite fairytale.

"Divayth Fyr intervened. Aryon also had the ear of the Nerevarine. He's retired now, doing who-knows-what just like Neloth."

"Don't speak that way about him," Harry barked.

The threat was not lost on the drunk; Ulves simply reacted.

"What, your precious Dunmer? You're young, naïve, and barely know him." Once again, Ulves had somehow summoned a brief glimpse of Dunmer arrogance despite his stupor.

"He enjoys me." The words clung strangely to the air, mocking Harry in how ridiculous he sounded.

"Like that means anything?" Ulves slurred. "You're just his latest subject. At least I know my place here."

"I..." Harry almost didn't know how to respond. He shouldn't be asking around about Neloth in the first place, descending to the petty rumors of these beasts. "I can't do this."

Harry left too quickly to even hear Ulves mutter a response. He couldn't deal with this right now; today had been rife with too much emotion for the young wizard. Harry's flesh felt like a porcelain doll being slowly pressed into the floor; every second caused another crack.

* * *

Overwhelmed with his day, Harry retreated back to his bedroom. Luckily, Neloth wasn't there. The Dunmer had probably deciphered the meaning of existence and learned how to achieve CHIM all by noon, whereas Harry could barely deal with two lowly servants and a conjuration spell.

The boy needed some sense of purpose. He couldn't admit it, but his life was stagnant without Neloth. At least in his old world, his life had meaning. Harry barely had the energy to leave the bed most days, but he still willed himself into action. He wondered if he was trying to prove his worth to Neloth by practicing magic and studying, but Harry could not think further. He could not deem himself unworthy of the wizard.

Shaking off his lapse into doubt, Harry refocused on the assassination plot against the Telvanni councilors. It was mostly deluded rumor (or what the Dunmer would call their rich, "oral tradition"), distorted through the generations since it happened, but the pursuit of learning the truth made the young wizard excited. Harry hadn't truly felt that since leaving his old world. The answer would be less important than the quest it entailed.

"Aryon is alive," Harry muttered to himself, trying to collect his thoughts. "He wouldn't help Neloth's servant, let alone his rival's lover...but he doesn't know I exist."

Harry almost wondered if anyone in this world knew he existed outside of the residents of Tel Mithryn. His existence could be easily erased, not even leaving a blemish upon this world.

"Aryon must still accept apprentices, but..." Harry gulped, wondering if it was worth even saying. "I would have to leave Neloth. Briefly of course."

The plan was vague for now, but Harry had all day to refine how to find Aryon. Even though he toyed with other options, none would work. He needed to visit Aryon in person, earn his trust, and display the cunning Neloth had taught him. Despite the glee he felt, doubt once again bubbled to the forefront of his mind.

"Will I even be emotionally stable if I leave?"

He could either live monotonously or prove himself to Neloth and live with purpose. Harry gulped, knowing what he wanted to do. It took no seer to see he yearned to prove himself, taste battle, and employ his ability to deceive. Tel Mithryn's people were now broken toys, overused by Harry and without hope for any future excitement. He needed to put them and this place away, saving only Neloth.

Harry would find and defeat Neloth's greatest rival. It was arrogant and foolhardy, but it had now become Harry's latest obsession.

* * *

AN: Well, this won't be just a two/three-shot. Does anyone want a character from the Harry Potter universe to appear in the story?


	4. Sunny Afternoon

Chapter 4: Sunny Afternoon

* * *

Harry sighed, gazing at Neloth's sleeping form. This would be the last time he would see the Dunmer what would probably be months. There was no right way to tell Neloth, for although Harry enjoyed the elder wizard's possessiveness, he would not allow for the younger wizard to leave. No excuse could be justified, for all involved losing his precious Harry.

Their relationship was endearing and confining: an odd juxtaposition of contradicting emotions just like the wizard himself.

Harry bent forward, his lips planting themselves on Neloth's forehead. "Goodbye."

Now wasn't a time to be wordy and give a lament to their love. The boy wanted to give a poetic declaration with enough heroic couplets to rival Shakespeare, but his escape mandated silence.

Escape was another contradictory word the Dunmer caused to Harry. The human deeply wanted to probe the depths of Neloth's mind, plundering both its knowledge of obscure magic and his more intimate, personal history. Either way, by escaping he was abandoning Neloth.

Before Neloth could wake up, Harry teleported himself away from Tel Mithryn.

Upon arrival, the cold, dry air of Winterhold brushed his face, before walloping themselves against his body. Harry felt as if the air could sense his alien presence, which was dangerous and unworthy of setting foot in the town. Luckily, no one was outside to notice Harry's arrival. No one probably ever went outside; Harry was more likely to find bodies amidst the snow than living people.

Neloth had unknowingly given Harry the tools to escape. The magic and spells from Harry's world had been useless upon arriving in Tamriel. Everything had to be relearned. Despite this, Harry quickly took to Neloth's training and eventually eased into independent study...if he could gratify his indulgent naps as that.

Aryon's location had been found too easily. Harry didn't know if the spell had worked because he was the powerful apprentice of Neloth or Aryon had taken no measures against other wizards finding him. By contrast, Harry had quickly performed the counterspell to mask his location from Neloth.

The tracking spell only required itself to be casted upon a piece of paper with the target's name, which then changed to reveal his location. Just as the Goblet of Fire had devoured names in its flames, so did the spell. Harry was surprised at its outcome, for Winterhold was not a hub of magic. It was not the Summerset Isles, nor even the tawdry Mages Guild hall.

Nords had built the College of Winterhold, almost making Harry cringe at his fellow humans. Aryon could qualify as senile for having chosen to live here. It was not the grand, exotic beauty of Morrowind. Even the husk of a dead guar was more appealing than this place. The reason behind Aryon's retirement here in this cold hell was beyond reason.

* * *

Harry paused, despite the snow beating against him like a whip. His eyes momentarily studied the crude wooden structures that were less houses and more the ruined bones of the former city. Wintehold had collapsed in the Fourth Era, leaving only its skeleton behind.

Upon another gush of cold, Harry regained his focus and entered the town's only store: Birna's Oddments. Harry almost wondered why the pawnbroker existed, for no one came to Winterhold. Perhaps Birna only kept shop to amuse herself, much like Elynea.

The brief thought back to Elyna caused disgust, but this time, a faint sense of longing. The wizard quickly shook that feeling off, berating himself for another moment of weakness. Harry pushed open Birna's door, slamming it back before the wind could knock both him and the shop down.

"Name is Birna, stranger. We don't get many...or any travelers here. You're with the College?" Birna stared at Harry like he was a rare bird facing extinction. Harry was probably her first customer since opening her shop.

"Why does anyone live here in this cold?" Harry's teeth couldn't stop jittering.

"My brother Ranmir and I grew up here, but his drinking soaks up whatever coin we have. Other than the stray College student coming to buy, I don't usually sell to the people who live here."

"So why haven't you joined the College? It must be the only warm place around here."

"I'm not that good with magic. I'd also lose my friends here. The town mostly ranges from hate to grudging acceptance of the College after the Collapse."

Harry was unsure how much further he should be delving into Birna's personal problems. The boy had only wanted to learn more about the town and restock on supplies and not start a counseling session.

"But enough about me, stranger. What is your name?"

Harry paused, debating whether or not to tell his actual name. Birna was not from his old world and his real name would have no worth to her. In any case, Harry needed to be safe. Although he had thought of several aliases before arriving, he hadn't thought the need to use one before entering the College.

"Trebonius," Harry answered, saying the first name that came to mind.

"It might be better to lie and say you're a Breton if you stay in town much longer. Winterhold isn't as bad as Windhelm, but we don't think too kindly of Imperials. Unless you don't plan to even leave the College once you enter..."

Harry finally rethought the name he had said, cursing himself for choosing it. It was foolish...but maybe, it could become and advantage. Only Aryon would recognize the name and Harry could easily pass himself as a descendent of his 'namesake.' It would certainly stir old memories within the senile Aryon.

"Thanks. What do you have to sell?"

Harry mind shifted back to the present, focusing on Birna. She was an attractive woman by Nord standards, but after experiencing the gold-like Neloth, she was like a hunk of clay crudely mashed together to form a human being.

"I'll sell just about anything, if it's worth the time. Even if you go to the College, make sure to come back. I can restock usually on alchemical ingredients, but anything more expensive such as armor or weapons would take longer to get here."

The boy focused on her form, distracting himself from the slight longing for Neloth. Harry had just arrived in Winterhold; if this kept up, he would barely last let alone live through the week.

* * *

The cold air still attacked him on his exit from Birna's Oddments. Its movement felt too energetic, as if it delighted in finding new prey. Even though he passed a fool's test by an Altmer sorceress to cast a magelight, all Harry could focus on was the cold. The temperature was drowning.

Harry crossed the bridge and entered the College's courtyard, which was mostly covered in snow. The wizards here didn't even have the decency to spell it away or use any temperature control around their abode. What could have been a lush garden of alchemical ingredients and flowers was but another frozen, Nord ruin.

The only life in the courtyard was a Breton woman, but how she survived out here wearing such thin robes was beyond Harry.

"Another new student... I'm surprised at how many of you there are lately..." the Breton gestured to Harry.

"I'm here to join the College." Harry's lips were too frozen to offer a snarky reply. He didn't even have the energy to inwardly fume.

"Well, first you'll need these. While you're not required to wear them, you may find them more to your liking than your current clothes." The Breton handed Harry a Novice pair of robes, but he could only look blankly at them.

"Those don't look warm."

Harry silently dreamed of somehow magically microwaving his body right now, drawing in all of its heat.

"Not really, but those who survive have a right to learn here," the woman snickered. "I'm Mirabelle Ervine. I'll give you a brief tour, and then we'll get you to your first class. Are you ready to begin?"

"Just drag my body inside. Be prepared for me to melt on the floor."

"You'd be only the third new student to die this week."

He didn't know whether she was stating that matter-of-factly or if it was a joke. Either way, Harry just wanted to collapse, forget the cold, and dream of Neloth.

Harry would either die from a lack of Neloth or from the cold. Living through the day just became his first priority.

* * *

AN: Do any of you want to see Harry complete Skyrim's College of Winterhold quests?


	5. Sulk

Chapter 5: Sulk

* * *

Harry's new room was the first on the right in the Hall of Attainment.

Although the stone walls around him were as cold and lifeless as the Nords themselves, Harry could appreciate the pool of magical light in the Hall's interior. The light bathed the walls in an eerie blue, almost like the tone of Neloth's skin. The sight had calmed Harry, momentarily purging his longing for the elder wizard.

The boy pushed away those thoughts, returning to the situation at hand. Mirabelle had directed him to the lecture hall to listen to Tolfdir.

"Welcome, welcome! We were just beginning. Please, stay and listen." Tolfdir beckoned to Harry, but the young wizard didn't summon even the slightest nod or acknowledgment. He just didn't have the energy.

Harry's mind focused on his body, which was still reeling from the cold, dry airs that had smashed into him outside the College. The same case could not be said for the Nord apprentice in the room, but surely the Dunmer woman and the Khajiit would feel the same way about the cold. Skyrim was not the ashy warmths of Morrowind nor the deserts of Elsweyr.

Tolfdir rambled the inane words of any old mage, but broke Harry's thoughts, "So, as I was saying, the first thing to understand is that magic is, by its very nature, volatile and dangerous."

Harry rolled his eyes, pushing what little energy he had into serving some good old fashioned attitude. Only the Khajiit next to him seemed to notice, much to the cat's amusement.

The elderly Nord didn't notice, continuing, "Unless you can control it, it can and will destroy you."

How many times had the Nord delivered the same speech? Perhaps the wizard was no longer capable of words that didn't involve blandly repeating cliche dangers about magic.

Finally, one of the apprentices interrupted, "Sir, I think we all understand that fairly well. We wouldn't be here if we couldn't control magic!"

It was not the dull, young Nord nor the sly Khajiit who broke Tolfdir's speech. Instead, true to her heritage, the Dunmer had spoken up and boasted of her...or rather, the group's ability. Harry was almost proud to find a Dunmer amidst the College. He understood the Dark Elves; their humor and culture was as alluring to him as Neloth. Hopefully, the Dunmer would be able to entertain him during his stay at the College. Harry felt himself above the Nords or better yet, above common humans.

Tolfdir paused, his mind almost breaking under the pressure to reply. "Of course, my dear. Of course, you all possess some inherent natural ability. That much is not questioned."

The response was too neutral for Harry's tastes. A better wizard such as Neloth would have assaulted anyone who spoke against him with degrading one-liners and subtle puns. A wizard could not restrict himself just to the art of magic, but must include words as well.

Seeing no students immediately jump at his answer, Tolfdir continued, "What I'm talking about is true control, mastery of magic. It takes years, if not decades of practice and study."

Harry's grin widened, masking the laughter brewing within him. Whatever basic spell the Nord would teach today probably had already been learned by Harry within a week of first coming to this world.

The Khajiit finally spoke, no longer content to merely eyeing the other apprentices' reactions, "Then what are we waiting for? Let's get started."

"Please, please! This is exactly what I'm talking about. Eagerness must be tempered with caution, or else disaster is inevitable."

This blubbering fool was probably responsible for the Great Collapse. He certainly was old enough.

A young male Nord continued the apprentices' banter, only speaking after the others had been more daring. "But we've only just arrived here. You've no idea what any of us are capable of. Why not give us a change to show what we can do?"

Harry was bored enough to wish for his body to crash into unconsciousness on the floor, but Tolfdir turned towards him. "You've been quiet so far. What do you think we should do?"

"I'm bored. This is a College of Magic and not a halfway house for old, mind-damaged mages."

The Dunmer briefly stared at him, before become more irritable towards Tolfdir. "See he agrees with us too! Why don't you actually show us something?"

"All right, let's settle down. I suppose we can try something practical..."

"Yeah...another healing spell," Harry deadpanned, eyeing the Khajiit. Just as expected, the cat wizard grinned at him.

Harry must be bored with the old Nord if he actually cared for other mortal's responses. His mind lost track of Tolfdir, momentarily blocking the wizard's words.

"Do you hear me?" Tolfdir raised his voice, turning to Harry. The wizard had probably commanded him and the class to jump off the side of the College into their snowy deaths. "Stand in the circle."

Harry walked over to the circle, watching his fellow apprentices walk to the side. Like Harry, they were angry but tired. Tolfdir's speech was obviously what Mirabelle had in mind on how many apprentices died at the College. Boredom was blunter than any hammer that could be thrown at them.

"Now cast a ward and keep it up. I don't want to hurt you."

Harry rolled his eyes another time, but finally, Tolfdir noticed. Despite that, the Nord didn't respond, preferring to release his disappointment in a blast of fire sent at Harry.

Unlike a weaker ward that would have merely deflected the spell, Harry had been taught wards by the greatest wizard on Solstheim if not all of Morrowind. The firebolt bounced off of Harry's ward, ricocheting back at Tolfdir. The blast gained momentum, shooting too quickly to be evaded by the Nord.

"Ahhh!" Tolfdir cried out as the fire hit his side. The Nord swiftly regained composure, casting healing spells to pretend like he hadn't just been in humiliating pain. Even though he probably didn't and would never know the apprentices' names, Tolfdir still wanted to be seen as the wise, infallible mage.

"What was that about the dangers of magic?" Harry's eyes widened gleefully at his prey.

"Nothing," Tolfdir's voice came out soft and defeated. "That will be all for today's lesson. We will be meeting at the ruins of Saarthal tomorrow. That's all for now."

With that, the Nord left the students, probably to guzzle all the College's stores of healing potions. He was weak. The Dunmer and young Nord left just as quickly. The apprentices seemed young, but not as naive as those Neloth usually took on. Neloth found amusement in Telvanni rejects who came to him for teaching. Even though Skryim was hostile to magic, Harry sensed some power between the three. Even the young Nord could prove capable...of mediocrity.

Only the Khajiit stayed behind, who quickly walked over to Harry. "J'zargo hoped there might be one who could keep pace with his accomplishments."

"The Nord seems really good," Harry forced himself to smile.

"J'zargo can smell a lie, but a funny one at that. What is your name?"

"Trebonius Artorius."

The Khajiit stared at Harry, expecting him to continue and reveal even the barest information about his past. The young wizard made no such move, only looking blankly back.

"You confuse J'zargo, but you seem different from other Imperials. Mages in Cyrodiil are all about politics and lies. The Synod and the College of Whispers are too busy guarding secrets to bother to teach."

"I'm not from Cyrodiil. I was born on Solstheim, in Raven Rock."

"Then why does J'zargo see you shiver? One is as cold as the other..."

The Khajiit didn't know how to continue. The young wizard's blank stare and powerful ward spell made him off-putting to both J'zargo and the other apprentices.

"It can be warm," Harry placed extra emphasis on 'can,' almost doubting himself by thinking to how cold Solstheim could be. He shouldn't be complaining. "Anyways, have you heard of a Dunmer named Aryon?"

"J'zargo has heard this name, yes. The Dunmer, Brelyna Maryon has said it, but many words are spoken and fleet away in the College."

"Is he here, Aryon? Answer me." Harry didn't appear angry, only annoyed at the Khajiit.

"The name is Dunmer, yes? The only Dunmer here are Brelyna, Drevis Neloren, and the Arch-Mage Savos Aren...what is this name worth to you?"

Disappointment immediately surged through Harry. The tracking spell couldn't be wrong; Aryon was somewhere in this trash heap.

"How much do you want? Brelyna can't know I want to find him."

"In time, J'zargo will demand the price." The Khajiit grinned too teasingly for Harry's liking.

"You've seen what I did to Tolfdir. Don't push me, cat." Now, Harry was angry. His lack of energy earlier had finally broken, his nerves becoming heated in animosity towards J'zargo.

"You are powerful. J'zargo can see that, but you need an ally here. J'zargo knows lies...like your name even if others do not."

Harry gritted his teeth, "Fine. Find out whatever you can by tomorrow and I won't roast you."

The Khajiit looked to the side, making himself appear above Harry's offer.

"I might give you your price..." Harry mumbled, but the Khajiit still heard, rearing his head happily back at the young wizard.

Nothing good could come of Harry's time here; in addition to the cold, the new threat of a conniving Khajiit was added to the mix. J'zargo could not best him in magical combat, but the cat's sheer annoying stupidity could alert the Arch-Mage and Aryon.

* * *

AN: Sorry if this chapter was boring, but Harry needed to join the College. Should Neloth try hunting Harry down?


	6. Abyss

Chapter 6: Abyss

* * *

In his sleep, Harry drowned in dreams of Neloth. Each vision bit at him, aching his body. Harry's love had never felt so damaging. His body shook, but Harry had spelled the room to be quiet. No one at the College would hear him tonight or any other if this continued.

"I'm pathetic," Harry's voice rushed out of dry lips, his eyes finally waking from sleep. He looked around his new room, but nothing comforted him. Tel Mithryn sang out to him, calling her lost child back to Solstheim. Harry had to will himself to get up today not out of laziness, but to escape his inner longing.

Harry would need to go on the expedition to Saarthal today. The ancient site should have been interesting, but since it wasn't related to the Dunmer, Harry couldn't be bothered. Only Neloth's people were worthy of excavation.

* * *

A warming spell lessened the beating wings of Skyrim's blizzards, but Harry still didn't like it while traveling to Saarthal. Harry could handle a pack of wolves and a few stray frost trolls, but the wind ruining his hair was just too much for the wizard.

The boy ruffled his hair, trying to set it back in place, but to no avail. He was looking ever more barbarically Nord by the day all thanks to his messy hair. No spell could tame the genetic monstrosity his father has given to him.

Harry was wrong to assume that Tolfdir would arrive early to the site; it was already noon and neither the loopy Nord nor his fellow apprentices were in sight.

Finally, J'zargo arrived, his face plastered into an annoying grin. Harry wondered if the expression was forced or if all Khajiit naturally looked that way.

"Lazy cat. I've been waiting for hours and only you show up."

J'zargo kept smiling, "J'zargo doesn't think you'd care if they got lost in the woods and eaten by bears."

"Yes, I would care! I'd hope you'd at least be clubbed by giants first. Or a nice, comforting mammoth stampede."

"They'd still find a way to live and annoy you. But J'zargo doesn't think you'd want to let Brelyna die."

Harry rolled his eyes, looking away from the Khajiit. "Who?"

The Khajiit stared at Harry, pausing before mimicking the young wizard's too-constant eye rolls. "Brelyna is mysterious. J'zargo couldn't find where she comes from, but she is related to the Telvanni Felen Maryon."

"I don't recognize the name."

"J'zago was able to research him...it required tough work like reading and blinking that some apprentices just aren't capable of."

"Tell me or I will hit you, kitty-cat."

"Felen rose from being a lowly retainer to somehow becoming the Telvanni councilor for Tel Branora after the previous one, Therana, mysteriously died. J'zargo did not know this and will pay attention to Brelyna in the future. She must be rich...and she might be even better a mage than you..."

"That's it..." Harry jokingly spat, but he was interrupted when he saw the rest of the apprentices and Tolfdir approach.

Tolfdir walked towards the entrance to Saarthal, turning around to face them. "All right, please stay close to me while we're inside. It could be safe, but it's always better be cautious."

Harry nudged J'zargo's side, whispering, "I'm betting ten septims Mr. Cautious caused the great collapse."

"That's too easy. J'zargo knows there must be a more sordid, violent and romantic secret."

"Violent and romantic? You're just a perverted alley-cat."

"Some of us take this excavation seriously," Onmund interrupted as he entered Saarthal. Brelyna followed, along with Harry and J'zargo.

J'zargo only laughed at Onmund, looking to Harry, "Don't make another eye roll."

Harry looked the other way and sighed, momentarily forcing his mind back into focus and away from the petty apprentices around him. Harry must be emotionally desperate from his dreams of Neloth if he was turning towards J'zargo.

While stepping down the stairs into the dark, oblivion-like abyss of the ruins, Tolfdir spoke, "As some of you may know, Saarthal was one of the earliest Nord settlements in Skyrim. It was also the largest. Sacked by the elves in the infamous 'Night of Tears,' not much is known what happened to Saarthal."

"Luckily, Tolfdir survived the Night as a vampire and has fed off of Winterhold's mages for centuries. Heartwarming and delicious," Harry said, sharing another snicker with J'zargo.

Harry didn't know if Tolfdir didn't hear him or just no longer had the energy to care.

"Hey Tolfdir," Harry raised his voice. "What are we looking for?"

"Anything!" The elder Nord spoke almost normally and without the fear Harry had seen in the first lessons. "Anything at all that might be of interest. That's why I adore this location...we have no idea what we're going to find."

For a second, Harry thought the Nord could have completely forgotten the firebolt that hit him yesterday.

Tolfdir continued, "And if, along the way, my message about the dangers of magic happen to sink in for a few students, that would be a happy coincidence."

The Nord had not forgotten; he almost seemed excited to see students be placed in danger, especially Harry.

Harry pretended like Tolfdir had not said that last part, speaking calmly and almost innocently. "What would you like me to do? I'm really excited to help out."

Harry would only be excited to see Tolfdir eaten by a pack of Draugr.

"Ah yes. Hmm. Well, why don't you see if you can assist Arniel Gane? He's one of our scholars, here working on cataloging our finds. I expect he'd appreciate some help in locating any additional magical artifacts here in the ruins."

If the boy wizard found any magical artifacts, he would pull a J'zargo and pocket them. These fools didn't even deserve basic enchanted robes.

Before Tolfdir could address the other apprentices, Harry quickly left, pushing his way through the tunnel before him until he arrived in a bigger room with the rotting remains of spiraling staircases. Somehow, walking down them didn't cause Harry's death, but the wizard eyes searched the room with paranoia for any trap.

The stairs and ledges that twisted around the room finally led to the bottom, where Harry took the first chamber with light he could see. Arniel Gane was pacing back and forth, doing standard cross-armed 'contemplative' mage poses instead of actually doing magic or finding artifacts.

"Pathetic," Harry whispered.

"What?" Arneil became alert to his presence. "Don't touch anything!"

"Tolfdir sent me to help. I could just leave..."

"You must be one of the new apprentices, then? Fine, fine. Just...just don't make a mess of my work, all right?"

There was no 'work' in the chamber, not even a single book or misplaced hair. The College of Winterhold really needed to look into mental examinations before selecting its members.

"I've only looked through a portion of this section. You, uh, you can look around in the chambers just north of here. Try and be careful, all right? We don't want to damage anything."

A mentally damaged wizard had no business worrying over damaged artifacts.

"Whatever," Harry sighed and walked away.

Harry ignored Arniel's request. The batty wizard needed something to do beyond pacing in the shadows of Saarthal.

The boy followed the light, coming to a wall with a golden amulet. The amulet was obviously a trap, but Harry couldn't care. Perhaps Tolfdir had placed the amulet here to 'teach' him a lesson on the dangers of magic.

With one swipe, the amulet was his, but bars quickly rose and trapped Harry in this corner of the chamber. Tolfdir, alerted by the only activity in Saarthal, came rushing to the bars.

"What in the world was that racket? Is everything all right?"

"I'm trapped," Harry yawned, earning a glare from Tolfdir.

"How in the world did that happen?"

"I pulled this amulet off the wall. It's pretty."

Tolfdir ignored Harry's last comment. "Really? Perhaps the amulet is important somehow. Is there some way you can use it?"

"I guess I'll wear it...even if I would never normally wear something this tacky."

Harry put on the necklace, watching and instant beam of red fuzzy light come out in a wave around where the amulet had been resting on the wall.

Tolfdir spoke, "Do you see that? Some kind of resonance...you and the wall. It must be connected to the amulet. Try casting a spell at it."

"I only do firebolts for you, Tolfdir. So unless you pin yourself against the wall, I'll just cop out and use a frost spell."

The old Nord greeted him with nothing but silence. In the shadows casted upon his face, Harry could not see Tolfdir's expression. Bored, Harry cast the spell, sending an ice shard at the wall, instantly breaking it.

Instead of waiting for more idiotic commentary by his teacher, Harry ran through the entryway.

A crumbling, cave of a tunnel led through several chambers, but unluckily for Harry, Tolfdir had somehow appeared.

"I'm so glad you showed up."

"This tunnel appears to lead somewhere. Let's see where it goes."

The pair traveled further, but neither spoke that often. Only the old Nord broke the silence for comments on Saarthal.

"Why in the world would this be sealed off? What is this place?"

"Maybe we'll finally find out how you caused the Great Collapse..."

It was just too good to hold in, but as always, Tolfdir had adopted a tactic of ignoring Harry.

The two entered another chamber, Tolfdir once again stopping to speak. "I'm not sure what to expect here. Please be on your guard."

Randomly, blue light enveloped the chamber, freezing time. Only Harry and a mysterious Altmer before him were unaffected. Tolfdir was forzen, finally stopping his inane rants.

The Altmer turned towards Harry, his eyes obscured by his hood. "Hold, mage, and listen well...Know that you have set in motion a chain of events that cannot be stopped. Judgement has not been passed, as you had no way of knowing. Judgment will be passed on your actions to come, and how you deal with the dangers ahead of you. This warning is passed to you because the Psijic Order believes in you. You, mage, and you alone, have the potential to prevent disaster. Take great care and know that the Order is watching."

As quickly as he appeared, the Altmer dissolved into the air along with the blue light in the chamber.

"I..I swear I felt something rather strange just then," Tolfdir stared at him. "What just happened?"

Harry didn't no what to say. Some being with immense magical power claiming to be from the Psijic Order has spoken to him. Harry only vaguely knew of the Order and their studies of the Old Ways of magic. It had always sounded like typical, stuck-up Altmers, this world's version of pureblood Slytherins.

"A Psijic Order monk spoke to me."

"The Psijic Order? Are you sure? That's very odd."

The boy knew where this was going; Tolfdir would doubt him at every turn. Even if the old wizard didn't believe him, they needed to move on and leave this place. Harry was bored after the first minute in Saarthal. Now, he was practically paralyzed by his boredom.

Only the arrival of a power Psijic intrigued him. Harry obsessively toyed in how minds who the better mage was: Neloth or the mysterious Altmer? The Psijic reeked of a power Harry wanted to possess. He would not be some errand boy for the the Psijic Order, but find someway to steal that power.

Aryon was still nowhere in sight, so Harry needed a goal to distract him. If he didn't, his yearning for Neloth would continue to torture him in his dreams.

* * *

AN: Does anyone remember Felen Maryon from Morrowind? I just found out that the Maryon family existed in Morrowind.


End file.
